


Christmas

by TracingPatterns



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Christmas, Drinking, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5563540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracingPatterns/pseuds/TracingPatterns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters don’t do Christmas. They never have, really. Dean figured they used to, must have, sometime before everything went horribly wrong but he doesn’t remember it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abbichicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbichicken/gifts).



> A Christmassy challenge from A in an attempt to poke my muses. It (sorta) worked. She is also my ever so patient beta, my inspiration and my very best friend.
> 
> This is set sometime after Season 5 but it doesn't exactly follow the story arch. Artistic freedom, if you like.
> 
> I've never written these boys before so be kind, but I truly did enjoy it. Hope you like.

The Winchesters don’t do Christmas. They never have, really. Dean figured they used to, must have, sometime before everything went horribly wrong but he doesn’t remember it. 

Of those he can remember, most were spent in various motel rooms across the country. Sometimes the three of them together, more often just himself and Sam waiting for their dad to come (or not come) back from whatever hunting trip he was on.

Dean could barely tell one Christmas from another - with some notable exceptions. Like the one when he had to tell Sam the truth about their dad, or the one when he accidentally set fire to their room whilst trying to decorate the tree with real candles. That was the last time he made an effort. After that, Christmas was over.

It wasn’t until the year he thought he was going to die, waiting for the inevitable, that he even thought about Christmas as an adult. He had simply pushed it out of his mind and Sam wasn’t too keen on reminding him.

The Christmas they spent in Ypsilanti, Michigan, hunting the pagan Gods posing as the Carrigans was an awkward Christmas. Sam hadn’t wanted to do anything at all but went along with it anyway, did it for Dean, because Dean had asked and you don’t deny your dying brother a final Christmas wish, do you?

But the year he spent with Lisa and Ben changed everything.

He wasn’t prepared for that. He wasn’t prepared for how it felt to have had everything, only to lose it again. To have experienced Christmas almost like a normal person (except he made damn sure the Christmas wreaths Lisa brought home weren’t made of meadowsweet and checked, double checked and then checked again to make sure nothing was going to come down the chimney) only to have it yanked away threw him completely. 

Fortunately he and Sam were usually too busy saving the world to worry about Christmas. Truth was, Dean made sure they were too busy. He usually found something to keep them occupied - luckily monsters didn’t exactly believe in Christmas holidays either. 

He knew Sam had figured it out. Had noticed the change in Dean. It used to be that they didn’t mention Christmas at all, just went about their business like any other day, but ever since Lisa and Ben, Dean was outright avoiding it. He moved from hunt to hunt from the start of December and didn’t slow down until well into the new year. 

With everything that had happened, Sam never actually confronted him with the knowledge, never asked Dean anything outright, instead simply tagged along on anything Dean suggested, no matter how vague the circumstances. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t demand answers. He just looked at Dean with those big eyes and said nothing.

*~*~*

Dean woke with a start on Christmas Day. At first he didn’t recognise where he was but a quick look around made him realise it was, yep, a motel room. The light outside the window told him it was probably past midday and a glance at his watch told him they’d slept well into the afternoon. The day before slowly came back to him; the vampire lair they found and disposed of, the way they’d hacked, sliced and burnt their way through those cooped up in the old warehouse. They hadn’t been back until the early hours of the morning.

By the soft snoring from Sam’s bed he could tell his brother was still asleep. He felt tensed, awkward, and he knew he’d had a bad dream. He couldn’t remember what, exactly, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. He could feel the muscles in his jaw, neck and back hurting from how tense he’d been.

It wasn’t until he was under the shower that he realised what it had been. As usual around Christmas he’d been dreaming about Lisa and Ben. Christmas Day, they’d been unwrapping presents in front of the tree when suddenly one of the stockings had turned into a small gnome-like creature with sharp teeth and vicious claws. It attacked Ben first, and then Lisa, whilst Dean did nothing. He’d been frozen to the spot, being able to do nothing but watch as life bled out of them and coloured the floor a deep, un-Christmassy red.

 _That was a new one_ , he thought wryly to himself, as he tipped his head back and let the warm water wash over him, washing away any residue of the dream. The water was hot enough to burn, reddening his skin and steaming around him. The warm shower did make him relax slightly, even if he still couldn’t quite shake the feeling from the dream. 

He turned the water off, grabbed a towel from the hanger and dried himself off before wrapping it around his waist. He made it back into their room where Sam was still snoring, shaking his head a little to himself as he discarded the towel carelessly before dressing. He grabbed the receipt from last night’s take out and scribbled a quick note for Sam not to worry, he’d be back in the evening. He was desperate for some fresh air and something that would clear his mind of Christmas and, more importantly, Lisa and Ben. 

He walked around aimlessly for a while before he found what he was looking for. All towns had one of those seedy bars that stayed open even on Christmas Day. No decorations, no Christmas carols, nothing Christmassy what so ever - just a dark and slightly dirty bar with a couple of regulars and a scruffy bartender. And whiskey. Thank God they had whiskey.

Dean lost track of time quickly enough. He hustled a man out of a couple of hundred bucks and then bought the whole place (all four of them in there) a round for good measure. ”Happy Christmas” one of them said but Dean shot him a look hard enough that no-one else tried to say anything festive after that.

When one of the other men fell asleep against the bar, head on the desk and mouth half-open and drooling, Dean figured it was time to go. He wasn’t drunk, exactly, despite the amount of whiskey and beer he’d been downing. Some days were like that. Dean wasn’t a stranger to drinking to forget but sometime his traitorous body wouldn’t cooperate. This seemed to be one of those days and when he left the bar all he felt was slightly warm and a little bit fuzzy around the edges.

He made his way back to the motel. Pushed the door open, stopping dead inside as the warmth and light washed over him. He looked around, expression baffled as he took in the red and green tinsel decorating the wall, the slightly crooked Christmas tree in the corner (electric lights, he noted) and the faint sound of Christmas music coming from the portable speakers on the bedside table.

He’d barely had time to realise what he’d seen before the door to the bathroom opened and Sam was standing there, wearing a ridiculous green Christmas jumper and a smile which was more nervous than anything.

”Eh,” he started, then fell quiet.

Dean said nothing, waiting for Sam to speak with his jaw set.

”Eh,” Sam said again, then lifted his arms in a sort of vague gesture. ”Happy Christmas?”

Dean frowned, sighing quietly, the lines on his forehead deepening.

”Sam…”

”No,” Sam interrupted. ”Look Dean, I know you hate Christmas and I know you want to go on pretending as if it’s not happening and you’d rather just get drunk and pass out but I’m sick of this. I’m sick of not talking about the fucking elephant in the room and go on hunt after hunt just to pretend it’s not that time of the year. Christmas is supposed to be nice and a time spent with the family and, yes, I know we don’t exactly have a great history of Christmases an0d we’re not the model family but we’re us, okay? And we’re here. Both of us. Alive. Which is a whole fucking lot better than we thought we’d be just a year ago. Is it really too fucking much to ask that we just have one evening when we don’t think about work and focus on what matters? Family. Us?”

Sam fell quiet, breathing a little harshly as he almost glared at Dean, as if daring him to protest.

Dean didn’t. He could feel his chest tighten at Sam’s words, his insides twisting uncomfortably and he rubbed a hand over his face, the tension in his shoulders travelling up his neck.

”Look-” he started but Sam cut him off again.

”No. You look. I’m not stupid, I know that there’s something wrong and I might not know what you’re thinking but just…let me do this, okay? Just sit down, shut up and eat.”

Dean frowned deeper, looking over at the table where a bunch of take out containers stood that he hadn’t even seen before. He looked at them, raising a brow as he turned around to look at Sam who merely shrugged, a little sheepishly.

”There’s pie.”

Dean couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitch up slightly.

”There’s pie?”

Sam merely nodded, daring a smile this time.

”Yeah. And burgers from that place down the street that you liked last time we were around here.”

Dean said nothing for a while as he walked up to the table, peaking into one of the little boxes. He sighed quietly, glancing at Sam and he couldn’t resist the warmth he felt at Sam’s nervous expression. He shook his head, already knowing he’d lost this as he took a seat at the table.

”Some Christmas dinner, huh?”

Sam’s smile widened, relief flooding his features as Dean sat down and he nodded eagerly.

”It’s not exactly traditional but since when do we ever do anything the traditional way, eh?” He stalked over to the fridge, opening it and taking out two bottles. ”Beer?”

”Yeah,” Dean nodded, helping himself to some of the food. He knew he should say something, anything, but he didn’t know where to start. 

He couldn’t talk about what was bothering him, not really, not like this. He accepted the beer from Sam’s outstretched hand, glancing up at him, and he exhaled quietly.

”Sam…”

But Sam interrupted him again, an honest smile this time.

”I know. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean relaxed slightly and the half-grin he offered was more genuine this time. Grateful that Sam didn’t push for answers, didn’t make him say those words that he couldn’t get out.

He softened completely then, the half-grin turning into a smirk as he took a swig from his beer.

”I was just gonna say that that jumper you’re wearing is a disaster.”

Sam looked surprised for a moment, stumped for words for a second before he let out a laugh, a slight flush creeping up his neck.

”Shut up.”

Dean grinned around his mouth full of food, one eyebrow raised.

”Bitch.”

Sam grabbed a container for himself, slumping down on the other chair as he replied without thinking.

”Jerk.”


End file.
